Dear Sadie

Dear Sadie…


your early memories were built from the bricks of an uneven residence,

the residue that your teachers left upon your canvass,

only tainted the way commitment was defined in the map of you,

fortunately… your heart was born with abnormal strength,

the valves in your princess chest releasing a jazzy peace,

a symphony of you causing all strangers to relax while in your company,

I write you this tonight as I sit miles from your shore,

knowing you may never read its words,

or hear the sound of my voice again,

I met you when your feet were the age of 5,

we were separated when your feet were the age of 9,

to the sweetest spirit I’ve ever known,

your laughter will be bottled deep within the capillaries of my daydreams,

when the fog from my neighbor’s weather spreads it’s nets above my vista,

I will uncork the magic from our memories,

 and drink from the gift of fatherhood you filled me with,

though now I lay awake in early a.m. hours,

imagining the way we could have spent my last $7,

probably on a stuffed animal claw machine at some truck stop Denny’s,

I write to you with all my simple nature,

trying to heal the wounds from the absence of your questions,

and your innocent solutions,

I’d learned so much from life’s tongue when given the chance to be a father,

I learned that it’s not in the words that a parent says,

 that determines the setting of the child’s choices,

yet rather the actions of the adult that perpetuates their soft or hardness,

the echo of behavior travels further than the wings on any words,

I was never able to buy you all those pretty dresses you loved wearing,

my artist’s salary only kept the lights on and the fridge half full,

though, I hope that when I sang to you in freestyle verse,

about the way you should treat your conflicts, that maybe one day,

these songs would become part of your character,

sometimes you’d ask me to take you to McDonald’s,

when all I could afford were hot pockets from the gas station,

we’d sit on the roof of my car at midnight in some Quiki-Mart,

eating our microwaved dinner while listening to the new beats on the radio,

we called them our “Ghetto Picnics” and you’d beg me to take you on them,

I hope that during these times,

you were granted the taste of the small details in life,

Sadie if your ears could hear my novice wisdom,

I’d tell you that when the pain touches down,

you must deter from opening your umbrella,

the one that would hide your outspoken sensitivity,

for you must allow the raw edges of life to run it’s game,

by doing this, you will prepare yourself for future tornados,

allowing extra space for empathy to harvest in your touch,

while on the opposite side of pain,

you will ingest the wonderful orange syrup that will drip from the waterfalls,

enjoy these moments of blissful splash and introspective congratulations,

allow a humble happiness to swim through these moments, and by doing so,

you will distract the vultures of fame and finance from your doorstep,

Sadie, remember above all…

that revenge results in guilt,

a guilt that washes away innocence,

and though your mother chose to replace me,

 with another song from the Jukebox,

I still wish for her satisfaction,

for if we don’t learn to accept,

we will end up like statues carved from sorrow,

I may marry again one day,

maybe create another prince or princess,


I confess to love nothing more than my 1st daughter,

my 1st real audience,

and my 1st real loss,

I love you Sadie,

and I will be thinking of you every morning while the sun rises




By: Bryan Matthew Boutwell /